


Fate/Cruel Hunger

by XIII_DEATH



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night - All Media Types
Genre: Eldritch, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Gen, M/M, Other, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25242061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XIII_DEATH/pseuds/XIII_DEATH
Summary: A fate fan war set in a near future moscow, starring every class in fate that I'll be slowly updating as time goes. Input is always appreciated
Kudos: 2





	1. Prologue 1: Ra Ra

“So you’re my servant than?” She spoke, glancing to the bearded man in the long black coat standing behind the chair upon which she sat before looking back at the command spell on the back of her hand, the odd symbol, twin lines almost tendril like coming off of the simplified version of her family crest. He eyed him nervously, her family having been waiting much too long for this chance, an opportunity to participate in the grail war, after working so hard to rise through the ranks, after pushing her so hard as a mage, pushed her into this position in the church, a high ranking sister in The Holy Church, and now the selected master of this… strange man. 

“Of course, my dear, it’s why you summoned me, yes? Now we can work together to win this silly war.” He chuckled, staring down at her, arms behind his back, giving her a rye smile. Something rubbed her the wrong way about him, the way he looked at her, the way he spoke, the way he held himself, something was off with him and she could tell, but perhaps she was merely being paranoid. 

They’d given her the coat that morning, having promised it to her since her selection as the master in this war, hoping to summon the legendary healer, the mad monk himself, a man who despite his many sins he was undoubtedly the best option they could get, powerful in life and powerful afterwards. They’d summoned him not too long after, in the basement of the church, the coat becoming new again, the man in all his grandeur manifesting in the center of the summoning circle. He’d kissed her hand, giving her a warm welcome as he introduced himself properly. 

“OF course, but I suppose I’m a little lost on what I should call you in the field. We still don’t know who else we’ll be fighting in this war, do you have a way to find out? What of your abilities? Your noble phantasm? Can we be sure how many will be active in this war? I’ve heard they’ve been getting larger each year, more dangerous, and the summoning has only just began.”    
  
“Please dear, you’re spiraling. There’s no need to be concerned I’m certain. I can likely run some kind of ritual in order to find them once they start getting to the city. I’m surprised none of them have contacted you, but I’m sure the three central families have lined up their designated sorcerers already, likely summoned their poor spirits and are undoubtedly not expecting us if they know not of you. Now let me ask, what will your wish be, my dear?” 

She’d never been asked, not once since she’d been chosen for this job, pushed into it by her parents and her mentors and all who’d hoped to find a way to get her to this point, living through her vicariously, pushing her to the brink, until her magic circuits reached their limit day in day out. And no one had asked. She couldn’t even remember when someone had asked what she’d wanted in such a long time. She stammered slightly, taking time to think before she spoke. “I’m not quite sure.” 

“Then take your time to think, because I assure you I will take that grail for the both of us.” He nodded to her, grinning. “Now then, I do believe we should be going then.”    
  
“And why is that?” 

“Because I’m certain the good father has figured out who I am by now and is likely coming here to attempt to correct his mistake.”

“What do you mean what you are? You’re the caster, my servant, what would be cause for concern there?” 

“Caster?” He said, raising his finger to the door as he smiled, the priest barging in before collapsing, blood spewing from his eyes and mouth as he fell backwards. “No dear, I’m no caster, not for some time. You may call me the foreigner. Now shall I fetch us a car?”

She watched him, shaking, staring in horror, between the dead priest and the man before his corpse. He walked over, taking her hand and letting the world move around them in a blur, leaving her sitting in the passenger's seat of the car, still dazed as he walked around to the driver's seat and left down the road, out towards the city. “Don’t panic now, dear. After all, you’ve summoned someone much more powerful than a meer caster I assure you. Now tell me, what was your name again?” 


	2. Prologue 2: Forty Whacks

“A rightful berserker to swear fealty to you, I’m sure, Master Makiri.” The dealer said, holding out the old axe to the man as the twins in front of him prepped the summoning circle. “It took quite some time to acquire it, but I’m sure miss Borden will prove herself in combat in a manner that should satisfy you greatly.” 

The war had become a bit of a chore now,happening more frequently, larger each time, more servants, more masters, and people had begun to capitalize on it, sorcerers specializing on procuring and selling catalysts to sorcerers who dare participate in the war, a network of such mages capitalizing on the dreams and strife of fools who dare allow themselves to participate in such a dangerous ritual, and no doubt played a part in making them so much more common. Many even claimed to know exactly the kind of servant one would summon with the catalyst given, but of course, with so many classes now, so far beyond the meer regular seven, it was fair from easy to be sure, and it was no secret they often found themselves incorrect. 

Timur Vsevolod Makiri, head of the Makiri family as of the year twenty nineteen and six years into his role as the head of the greatest family of mages Russia had ever known, one of the greatest mage families in the world, and yet always second fiddle next to the Tohsakas and Einzberns, never having won a war despite being one of the three mage families that had founded it, the family that had developed the summoning system, the family who had all right to that grail and its power. But he would undo it all, he would take the grail and make the Makiri family ruler above all others, and most importantly, undo his father’s disgrace from the last grail war. He grinned, taking the axe by the handle and weighing it in his hands. “Yes, mister Kozlov, I’m sure this will do nicely. Now I do hope you’ll stay for the summoning.” 

“No, no, I really should be going.”

“Please, Mister Kozlov, I insist.” Timur spoke, one of the women raising a gun to the dealer as he walked towards the summoning circle, setting the axe down and backing up as he snapped his fingers. “I’m sure this will be quite something to watch.”

The twins began to speak aloud, talking in time with Timur. “Lizzie Borden Took an axe and gave her mother forty whacks, when she saw that she was done, she gave her mother forty one.” The group watched as the axe slowly rose into an upright position, the crimson lines of the summoning circle glowing as the ground shook, air whirling around the group as Timur’s face broke into a massive smile, the woman manifesting, black dress, holding the axe in her hands to her chest, eyes opening. 

“Excellent, can you hear me, Berserker?” 

“Of course I can, Master.” She stared at him, contempt in her eyes as she stalked forward. “Why have you summoned me? How have you summoned me?” 

“Oh no need for such pleasantries, Berserker. Does she seem a bit too articulate to you, mister Kozlov. This is the murderous Lizbeth Borden is it not? Should a berserker not be lacking in mind? THough I suppose some are more sane than others.” 

Kozlov stammered, realizing in that moment that the wrong answer could cost him life and limb. “OF course, sir, I’m sure you just managed to summon a particularly knowledgeable Berserker. I’m sure this shant impede her wrathfullness. She is the bloodthirsty Lizzie Borden after a-” 

And with that, the man’s sentence was cut short, the blade of the axe lopping is head off cleanly from his shoulders, the woman in black gritting her teeth as the bloodied axe. “No sense in dwelling in the past like that. I’m merely an avenger, and I shall not kill like some foolish barbarian, but I shall gladly take my revenge on idiots like this man who dare believe I committed such crimes.” 

“Of course, Avenger, I would not dare insinuate you would do such dreadful things. And I’m sure once we receive the grail, we can make it clear to the world you see the same.” Tomir nodded, grinning. 

“Do not think I will not kill you as well, Master. Just because you’ve granted me this second chance does not mean you’re above my wrath. Don’t pretend to hide your intentions in summoning me.” She said, turning to face him, the axe clean of blood as he hung next to her. 

“Of course, Avenger, but believe me when I say I will put up a fight. But if you do not betray me, I assure you, I shall not make such grievous insinuations.” 

“Then I suggest you choose your commands wisely, Master.” She turned heel, walking over the body and out into the passageway, heading for the stairs. Tomir simply chuckles, following after her with the twins in toe. 


	3. Prologue 3: Candle in the Wind

Built in 2003 on what used to be home to the small summer home belonging to one Norma Jean, Later known as Marilyn Monroe, is Normas, a small diner home to one of the largest collections of Marilyn Monroe merchandise in the world. It may strike people are being somewhat morbid that a place dedicated to her legacy sits on what was her home for the months leading up to and months following her somewhat messy first divorce, let alone a cheap diner filled with a plethora of cheaper merchandise with her face on it. No doubt, if this a monument to anything it is a monument to the worst days of Norma Jean’s life in the guise of dedication to Marilyn’s best, and in turn, has been part of the worst days of the lives of many an overworked and underpaid part timer. 

One of these part timers, a miss Maxine Middle, was closing up at the end of the night, the only one working the end of this shift, the only chef in the back having left at least a half hour ago. She’d moved to the Los Vegas area about three years ago when she was a bright eyed twenty something hoping to get noticed while working various day jobs and performing in pubs at night with her guitar. Unfortunately, the years had drained some of her zeal, and at this point she was simply trying to get through the day and make enough money to pay rent. She hadn’t given up on performing, she still did from time to time in less than favourable bars and the like, mostly covers at this point, she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d tried to write a song. Still, deep down inside she did hope someone would discover her, as silly as that felt to admit.

She pulled the blinds closed with a sigh before unplugging the coffee maker, glancing at one of the pictures of Marylin above the jukebox. “What the hell would you do, Mary. I swear one of these days I’ll get out of here and never have to see your smug mug again.” She knew that was mean, the poor woman didn’t deserve a damn thing she got, a triple threat no doubt.   
  
She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t jealous, but she was jealous of everyone in the end. Their lives were better than hers, working for something they could actually care about. Why did she make her goal getting famous off of music, what an idiot. She went over to the jukebox, unplugging it as the light of the full moon shone through the window. IT’s as she pulled it out that she shocked her hand, dropping the plug as it lit up, the rose lighting set up around the bar turning on in tandem as Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend rang through the speakers.

She sucked her burnt finger for a second before rubbing it against her apron and glancing around, furrowing her brow and making sure to quickly check the jukebox’s plug, seeing that it was indeed out of the socket. And she’d turned off the computer so the lights shouldn’t be able to turn on like that either. But still, it was all moving, the music playing, the disk spinning. 

And then she saw it, the shadow moving along the ceiling, lit pink by the red lighting below as it grew larger and larger until it started to reach down, the size of a person, the shape of a woman.

She Watched it as the mask manifested, a faded smile, a theatre mask of sorts, white as the dress on the pale form. It grinned at her as she backed against the jukebox, staring back at it in fear as the ghostly figure stepped down from the ceiling. 

“Now what would you have against little old me? I used to be quite the star before I died, you know.” The specter spoke, voice wispy and smooth, a practiced tone. “I could make you a star too, dear.” 

“Marylin?” That’s all she could say, did she do something wrong, did summon the ghost of Norma Jean by accident? Oh what was she gonna do! “Is that really… I must be hallucinating. This isn’t possible.” 

“You certainly would think such things wouldn’t you. Not much imagination anymore, worked your poor soul to the bone. Well, I’ll tell you this much, I certainly am the great Marylin Monroe. And it seems as though you’ve summoned me.”

“Summoned you?” 

“I won’t pretend to know, Miss Middle, lot of knowledge in this noggin I’m still sifting through. What I can tell you is that you’re the newest lucky participant in the latest holy grail war.”

“Holy Grail, like the cup from Indiana Jones? And what do you mean war? I’m not a fighter, I’m not cut out for this.” 

“Well that’s one place to find it. And I’m afraid you don’t have much of a choice, Miss Middle. Fortunately, if you do win, the grail can grant you any wish you like. It won’t be easy, of course, but that’s what I’m here for.”

“You’re going to what, fight for me?” She can’t panic, she won’t, but she’s going to. This was way too much and she knew it. There’s no way this is possible, it can’t be! She must be dreaming. But it felt so real.

“That’s right. And hey, I can even try to show you some pointers on the way.” She grinned, holding out her hand. “You can call me Alter Ego, It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss Middle.” 

And on instinct, she took her hand, shaky, the magic circle lighting up around them as the command seal manifesting on her hand, an ornate diamond. “IT’s a pleasure to meet you too, miss Jean.” 

“Please, Norma Jean is dead. Call me Marylin.” 


	4. Prologue 4: Pride

Call it what you will, an ambush, a reunion. Regardless, this was no way to go about a will reading. And needless to say he was more than frustrated by this turn of events. Standing in the dark room, a member of the church acting as the will reader, every family member he hadn’t talked to since childhood staring at him, either in surprise, anger, or subtle bemusement. He wasn’t sure how many of them were privy to this decision beforehand, and frankly he wanted no part of it, but he was rather certain at this point he didn’t have a choice.

The Edfield family was somewhat of an oddity amongst mage families. They’d lost their status as a high mage family during the seventeen hundreds, a few unfortunate decisions had left them destitute, and ultimately they had left Finland for greener pastures during the european emigration to the colonies in north america. Over years, they slowly climbed back to something approximating their former wealth, but in becoming so distant from the clock tower, their status as a great mage family never returned. They did try to find status in other ways, however, becoming a well-known celebrity family and chasing any new art form that crossed their past. Eventually, they would find their way to hollywood, becoming rather prolific film stars and while they weren’t all successful, a handful were. In particular, Greta Edfield and her three daughters, Adeline, Irene, and Victoria, each of whom were rather prolific actresses. Should the tabloids be believed, Irene, the middle sister, was killed as a result of what was written off as some kind of maffia conflict by the press but what was in fact what would be known as later as the Hollywood Grail war. Ultimately, her death led to a fissure forming between Victoria and the rest of her family, and she would eventually leave home and become informally disowned, not speaking to her mother or her older sister until her mother’s death, and even still only for a moment. Victoria would die alone, her husband having left her for another woman, abandoning her and her son. While she still kept to acting, she was nowhere near as successful as she had been as a child working with her mother and sisters, and ultimately she would die from a stress induced hemorrhage at age sixty one. The last of Greta’s daughters, Adeline would die four years later at the age of seventy-five, having passed peacefully surrounded by her family, well, the family she would acknowledge.

Brandon had been surprised when he received the invitation to her will reading, after all he hadn’t even known she’d died until it reached the public, and he certainly wasn’t planning to attend any sort of funeral. As far as he and his mother had been concerned their family was dead to them years before his grandmother had passed, even if some of the kinder members of their family would try to reach out from time to time. He agreed to come anyhow, knowing deep down that his hope that he would finally receive what he and his mother were owed thanks to the years of turmoil his grandmother and aunt had caused was fruitless. But he hadn’t expected this.

HE sat through the whole reading, watching as what was left of her estate was divided up amongst family members and friends of his aunt he didn’t even recognize. And then it came to him. A few of his cousins sneered at the sound of his name as he was called, a handful glancing back to get a peak at his reaction. Deep down inside he hadn’t really expected much of anything, and he certainly hadn’t wanted to be the center of attention, but here he was. 

“To my dear grandson Brandon Edfield, I bequeath you the journal of Jane Austen, this two way plane to Moscow, a hotel booking in your name, and Ten Thousand dollars. You are to travel to Moscow and participate in the upcoming holy grail war with your servant Jane Austen. You will summon her immediately following this will reading, and should you refuse we will be sewing you and your mother’s estate for breach of contract. Should you win the Grail War, you will be required to use your wish to return your family to the status of high mages within the clock tower. Should you choose another wish, we will again be suing you and your mother’s estate for breach of contract. Failure in the grail war should result in no less than your death. I will be sending my personal assistant to assist you and ensure you follow orders. She will begin accompanying you once you leave this room.” 

He was dumb struck, he’d never expected to be saddled with something so important. Frankly he didn’t expect to get anything at all. But this was worse than nothing and he knew it, this was a death sentence, the same sentence that killed her aunt Irene, they’d march him to death the exact same way. And like that, his feet were moving on their own as he marched to the podium where the will reader stood, his hands glowing with magical energy as he reached to pull the man by his collar right to his face, rage filled eyes boring holes right into the poor priest.

“You can’t do this to me, I won't do it, I won't be killed like Irene, I won't-” But he stopped, glancing back to his family that had risen around him, the book in the priest’s left hand almost falling to the ground. He knew what they’d do to him, there was more at stake than money and he knew it. He dropped the priest, snatching the journal and pushing him to the ground. “Send the rest to my hotel room. I’ll win this war, and then when I’m done I’ll kill all of you bastards. You just want me dead anyway.” He pushed past his family, headed for the door, adjusting his gloves. “All of you are just as pathetic as she was, too afraid of losing your money and fame to do any of your own dirty work, but Victoria’s son’s expendable enough.” 

And out of the room he pushed, making a bee line down the stairs, past all the portraits and photographs, his aunt’s personal assistant running after him. Fine, he’d march to his death, who cares. HE wasn’t winning this war anyway. 

It was as he stood outside that the sound of footsteps approached, heels on the cobblestone path, the voice of a british woman ringing out behind him. HE hadn’t noticed that he’d taken the book, or that it was glowing with his magic. OF course he hadn’t utilized the invocation, but he had spoken with conviction, and it had summoned her. The finely dressed woman stepped up next to her, an ornate book not unlike the journal under her arm. “The wealthy can be so troublesome, can’t they.” 

“You certainly don’t need to tell me twice. I assume you must be…” 

“The caster of this grail war, at your service. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Brandon. We certainly should wait for dear Maggie to catch up, the last thing we need is your family causing either of us problems.” 

“I suppose so…” And with that, the uber arrived, the assistant finally catching up to the two of them just in time. He didn’t exactly know how to deal with this, but perhaps if he was fortunate he could at least move this to his advantage. After all, once he was in moscow they couldn’t stop him from wishing them all death. As far as he was concerned, they were already dead anyhow. 


	5. Prologue 5: Overture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The summoning of archer.

This was a luxury, she thought to herself, looking out at the crowd of her siblings and her creators, the orchestra behind her getting into place upon the stage, standing atop the magic circle that had been painted atop it, the candles flickering, lit only by natural light. The Einzbern family had wasted no expense, and all for her, she felt honoured, and to be able to meet with a lifelong hero of hers, oh the stars truly had aligned. She sat in her seat to the side of the orchestra, the cannons wheeled in above their heads, leg shaking in anticipation.

They’d chosen the Moscow Tchaikovsky Conservatory for a number of reasons. Firstly summoning within the city the war would take place in meant that they would have territorial control off the bat, even if the city wasn’t theirs, they could at least be sure the Makiri family would keep their distance if the Einzberns did the same. But perhaps more importantly, the Einzberns wanted to leave nothing to chance, and ensuring three catalysts were present was their best option. Apart from the conservatory itself, they had brought an antique conductor’s baton that Tchaikovsky had used alongside a selection of manuscripts of music he had composed completely with his notes. 

The mages on the outside of the circle moved into position at the seven points, Gundala’s magic lifting the baton from her seat off to the side and tapping it upon the stand. She would try to pretend she wasn’t nervous, but in truth, she never thought she would get this chance, so many of her siblings had been chosen before her. So many had died before her. And now she would chase the grail as well, and eventually become it’s true host like she was made to do. She began moving the baton, the slow build-up the music filling the concert hall, beginning the whispered chanting.

“Great conductor, I perform for you to call for your aid in this war. I beseech you to work by my side, come to me.” The music slowly grew, forlorn and triumphant. The intersection of woodwinds and strings playing against one another in conflict, the urgency of the sounds as it grew faster. It was a conversation between high and low, growing faster and faster before exploding outwards with the horns, percussion coming in to underscore the blasts. 

Symbols crash with the sound of bass drums, growing low again as the snare slowly comes in, accompanied by the famous horn line. The violins accompany it, still low energy, keeping quiet, but the building energy is palpable. The lines on the ground began to glow, slowly filling with her mana, the metal of the instruments, and the lines on the page doing the same. The lights dance as they hit another crescendo, the timpanis shaking the very earth with each hit. 

Like waves in the ocean, the music slows again, the baton movements growing more subtle as the lilting bridge between coronet, violin, and flute return to center stage, accompanied by the whispered chime of bells. The movements were hard at such a distance, her control magic wasn’t quite suited for the subtle movements but she’d mastered it with enough practice. Nevertheless, it almost seemed to be getting easier, a shimmer of light appearing in the center of the circle in front of the stand. 

  
The music goes quiet for a moment before exploding with energy again, slowly building louder and louder, the light in the center of the circle swirling together. With a crash of the symbols the music gets more and more frantic as the pillar of light rises into the sky, the cacophony ripping through the hall. The music takes one last reprieve, the calm distracting from the oncoming onslaught. The horns rise as the quiet drum roll buzzes in the back, the pillar of light growing higher and the horns and drums filling with energy.

The pillar grows brighter and brighter as the song reaches its climax, and at the height the cannons go off one by one, and in the falling sparkling bursts of magic he stands, holding the baton now and directing the orchestra. The bearded man moves with skill and grace, moving the baton and his hand to direct the orchestra, the bells and horns ringing out, the power and presence overwhelming.

The horns blare and she stares in all, like an angel of music, she can’t handle what she’s seeing, and then she’s on her feet. The music gets louder and faster and harder as it builds to the final climax the cannons blare and the bells ring out, all the instruments playing in unison in a beautiful cacophony. The crowd can’t help themselves, already ready to clap as they hoot and holler, and she’s caught up in it too, eyes wide, smile the biggest it had ever been. 

As the music comes to its bombastic conclusion she knows she’s done it, she knows she’ll make them all proud, she knows she won’t let them regret choosing her. The music ends on it’s final climactic exchange between the two horn sections, underscored by the drums before the hall goes silent. They’re in aw for a moment before the clapping begins, a standing ovation. 

The conductor turns around, giving a bow to all of them. “IT’s a pleasure to be with you all. Thank you for gifting me this performance, thank you all. Now then, which of you is my master.” 

Gundala is in awe, but she moves closer nonetheless, hiding her stage fright from the world with her bravado as she pipes up. “IT is I, Gundala Einzbern, homunculus mage. IT is a pleasure to finally be in your presence, sir.”

He bows to her, sliding his baton into the small holster on his belt. “And same to you, Miss Einzbern. I am Pyotr Tchaikovsky, Archer.”

“I expect you to win me this war, Tchaikovsky.” She said with a grin, adjusting her coat and dress.

“I would not have it any other way. Now then, Let us continue.” He says, turning to the stand. Gundala nods, secretly quite happy he wished to continue playing, moving to her own seat in the horn section. IT was all she ever wanted. The violins and flutes converse as they begin the nutcracker suite. The night goes long, a perfect first performance she thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long, been a while since I've been able to properly write anything. Reviews and comments welcome as always. and if you'd like, feel free to comment below on if you'd like to see Shielder, Assassin, or Ruler summoned next.


End file.
